


The Soulmark Affair

by celli



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Biting, Kidnapping, M/M, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, Rescue Missions, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, non-ABO mpreg, pining for someone you're already having sex with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23815564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: “How did you know he was here?” Gaby asked Solo as the bodies were removed and Illya was rubbing the feeling back into his extremities. Solo was still carefully avoiding the vicinity of bed. “Unless that bastard in the lobby said something I couldn’t hear as you were throttling him.”Illya strained to hear the quiet reply. “I couldn’t tell you if I tried.”She scoffed. “Soulmates.”
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 253
Collections: Unusual_Bearings_2020





	The Soulmark Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMintJulep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMintJulep/gifts).



> My deepest thanks to Alexia and flyingwide for beta help, as well as my Discord and Fannish Craft Zoom friends for encouragement and story ideas (even if I didn't take any of their more, er, creative lube suggestions).

It was bad enough that he’d realized in the middle of the fight with the American that a soulmark was forming on his wrist. (He hadn’t let it slow him down; Illya had his professional pride, after all.)

It was even bad enough that he’d let the sparks shooting under his skin every time Solo stood too close to him lead him into an ill-advised fuck in Solo’s room between surveillance shifts on a mission. (He’d meant to insist on a condom, of course. But in the blaze of heat between the two of them, how eager he’d been to pull Solo down to him, into him, he just. Just hadn’t.)

But this. This was beyond unacceptable.

Illya rolled over as far as his bonds allowed, fighting the wave of nausea that accompanied any movement, and won this time around. His soulmark gave a throb that felt something like satisfaction. Illya rubbed his wrist roughly against the rope in an attempt to quiet it. Nothing about the current situation was satisfactory, and definitely not the part where he was in less than optimal form to make an escape.

One of his captors was on the phone now, while the other three guarded the window and door.

“We have him, yes,” the man on the phone was saying in passable but American-accented Russian, smirking at Illya. “If you want him unharmed at the drop point, we have several demands--”

The hotel room door cracked open, and Illya froze for a moment, then smiled over at his captor. The man was so busy staring back at Illya, unnerved, that the three shots from the door that took out his henchman came as a complete surprise to him. He whirled and threw the hotel room phone at Gaby; she ducked it and kicked him at the base of his kneecap, knocking him to the floor. Solo was right behind her, snagging the phone cord and wrapping it around the man’s neck.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked Illya, his voice smooth as if he were asking about the weather. Illya’s soulmark burned.

“Not much,” Illya said with all honesty.

“Then I won’t strangle him much,” Solo said in the same strangely calm tone, and true to his word, the man was still alive when the cleanup team came. The medic dutifully clucked over Illya, proclaimed him unhurt despite a few bruises - Illya’s wrist burned again - and followed the cleanup team out the door

“How did you know he was here?” Gaby asked Solo as the bodies were removed and Illya was rubbing the feeling back into his extremities. Solo was still carefully avoiding the vicinity of bed. “Unless that bastard in the lobby said something I couldn’t hear as you were throttling him.”

Illya strained to hear the quiet reply. “I couldn’t tell you if I tried.”

She scoffed. “Soulmates.”

“I know,” Solo said with the brief flash of a smile. “I hardly believe in them myself.”

With a whisper of fabric, she slipped out the door, and Solo made his way over to the bed. Illya rolled away from him, ignoring the protest from his stomach. Solo just walked around to the other end of the bed and pushed Illya’s sweaty hair off his forehead. His soulmark - the same pointless design that looked so cultured on Solo’s wrist and so out of place on Illya’s - peeked out from under his shirt cuff. “Kuryakin--”

Illya grabbed Solo’s hand, yanked his cuff up hard enough that he ripped the button, and sank his teeth into the soulmark. Solo let out a choked-out groan, and Illya closed his eyes to avoid showing his own reaction as his entire body reacted with something besides nausea for the first time in weeks.

He let go and pushed Solo back a step. “Believe that,” he muttered.

“My dear Peril--” Solo began. Illya growled under his breath. Solo let out a harsh breath from between his teeth, bent down, and kissed Illya.

It was the first time they had kissed - who fucks without kissing? Illya thought, vaguely, and then, who fucks _Solo_ without kissing him? He might have expected smooth and suave, if he’d expected anything (alone in the dark, with his hand on his cock under the covers, cursing himself and Solo and soulbonds and God). Instead, he got rough, desperate, with more than a hint of teeth. Solo’s hand was hard around his forearm, pressing their soulmarks together. Illya barely noticed that his nausea had all but disappeared.

Ilya groaned. He got a hand in Solo’s jacket and dragged him down. Solo dragged his mouth away long enough to say, “Here? There’s blood--”

“Good,” Illya said viciously, and yanked harder.

Solo landed on top of him. He fought to get to his hands and knees as Illya tore at his suit jacket. “Careful,” Solo said.

“Fuck your clothes,” Illya said. He tore until a seam split just to punish Solo for paying attention to anything else.

Solo tried to sigh, but Illya already had a hand down his pants. He moaned and threw the jacket off.

The rest of their clothes followed quickly; Illya even managed to fight the impulse to ruin the rest of Solo’s suit. Once they were naked, Solo threw himself down on Illya, his cock bumping up against the slight swell in Illya’s stomach. 

Illya dug his fingernails into the meat of Solo’s arms and bit his bottom lip. Solo grunted against him and ground down. His hands ghosted over Illya’s stomach before locking on his ass. “What do you want?” he asked before cutting off Illya’s breath with another rough kiss. “Tell me what to give you.”

“Fuck me, you bastard,” Illya snarled into his mouth.

Solo disappeared for a moment - Illya nearly sobbed into the emptiness - and when he was back, he worked a slick finger into Illya’s ass. Illya spared a thought to where Solo had found something to use in this dingy room and decided not to care about it. Besides, he had other things to focus on, namely the drag of two fingers now across his prostate. Illya’s wrist throbbed again, and his entire body sparked with pleasure.

Illya kicked at Solo when he slid a third finger in. “Fucking fuck me already.”

Solo sat back on his heels between Illya’s legs, half-smiling. Even sweating and with disheveled hair, he looked like...like… _like everything_ , Illya’s traitorous brain produced. He ignored it. Solo leaned down and kissed the inside of Illya’s knee, then just below his stomach, and Illya’s back arched off the bed. 

“Ready?” Solo asked. He was panting a little against Illya’s stomach.

“Don’t know,” Illya said. “I just” _need you_ “want you now.”

“You asked,” Solo said, and pressed forward.

Illya threw his head back and let out one long loud groan. Solo echoed it, and grabbed Illya’s hips to tilt them into a better angle as he slid all the way in.

Four months ago, it hadn’t been like this. The soulbond’s pull between them, yes, the passion, the feeling of exhilaration and also somehow relief had all been there. But they weren’t uncertain now this second time, weren’t fighting the bond or each other. 

Well, any more than they wanted to, Illya thought as he grabbed a fistful of Solo’s hair and yanked his head back to bite at his throat. Solo responded by thrusting harder against him; Illya hooked a leg over one of Solo’s shoulders and threw himself into it fully. 

How long it went on, Illya couldn’t say, didn’t care. He just wanted to live in this liminal space, moving with Solo, tangled around him, belly between them, forever. At some point he opened his eyes and Solo was staring down at him, eyes an eerie gray in the dark.

“Illya,” Solo said, his voice rough and hushed.

Illya felt his lips shape Solo’s first name, barely a breath passing through them.

Solo dropped his head to Illya’s shoulder and thrust one last time, groaning. Illya hissed out through his teeth as he felt Solo come - and again as Solo pulled out of him none too gently.

Solo rocked back on his heels, though, and dropped his mouth to Illya’s cock. Sparks flew. His soulmark seared. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Illya said and came with a rush.

* * *

Gaby found them tangled on the bed the next morning and didn’t even bother looking away (or hiding her amusement) as they stumbled back into their clothes. “You could have at least brought me a new suit,” Solo said, draping his jacket over one arm so the torn seam wouldn’t show.

“You?” Illya asked.

“Me?” Gaby asked.

Solo looked at both of them with ill-hidden grumpiness (Gaby snickered again) and headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle. His eyes darted to Illya’s stomach and away. “Coming, Peril?”

Illya ran a hand through his hair and gave it up for a loss. He walked past Solo, looking down at him. He brushed two fingers along the damaged edge of Solo’s shirt cuff, down to his soulmark. “Ready when you are, Napoleon.”

Solo jolted visibly. Illya smiled.


End file.
